Nox Populi

by Anonymous

Summary:

On a silent desert road, a lone trucker is making his way to his destination. The radio is silent with nobody to answer his calls. All is silent until another rig turns onto the road he's on and finally responds. The truck - Big Red, as he guessed from the paintjob, is a strange one to see around these parts, but even stranger is the voice that answers him from the radio.

Or

To humans, Optimus Prime is a ghost story.

Multiple one shots in the same universe with different characters.

Notes:

Inspired by a post I saw on tumblr - Link to post

Chapter 1: The Trucker

Summary:

On the dusty road of Nevada, a lonely trucker radios the other

The road was quiet this time of night. The only signs of civilization that could be seen were the dark shadows of powerlines on the backdrop of the ever so faintly orange sky, signifying a town somewhere in that direction.

Oh, what wouldn't he give to be there right now. He wouldn't have complained any other night, but tonight his shoulder was stinging something awful, an old injury coming back to haunt him after he had slept on it wrong. There it was, radiating to his stiff neck and refusing to give way no matter what he did with it. The painkillers had helped a little, but it had not been a fix-all.

Only a few hours to go. He'd be there before sunrise, but for the time being, he would have to endure the silence and the dark. Carl might have been used to it, but it didn't mean that he liked the loneliness that came with it. It was better on the highways, where the radio was full of chatter and he did not have to feel like he was the only person around.

At least he could have appreciated the view if it was daytime, right now, however, there wasn't much to see. His headlights blazed in front, but it wasn't like they would go far.

The radio was silent. It made sense, not a lot of other drivers on this patch of road, but it wasn't like he was calling out to them anyway. For all he knew, there could be someone just up ahead.

Speak of the devil. To the left of him, he could see a light, multiple of it as he got closer. Another truck was about to turn onto the road he was on, but there was no telling if he was going the same way as him.

Hell, maybe there was a radio, he could talk for a bit.

"Driver, you eastbound or westbound?" Carl spoke into the radio.

There was a crackle on the radio, and a smooth voice replied, "Westbound."

The same direction as him, then. Eh, hopefully he would be decent company.

"I'll back it down a bit for ya so you can make the turn," he said, lowering his speed a bit so the other could get on the same road as him.

"Thank you."

"Would have passed you, but I doubt you would have liked driving there with me bundled out like that. Would only slow you down."

"That's considerate of you," the other driver spoke, calm and almost indifferent.

Not much of a talker, was he? There was worse company to be had, but at least the guy was talking, and didn't seem like he was about to flip the bird at him from the window. Now that he had seen the truck, something about it jogged his memory, of someone at the last stop mentioning a red, chromed-out truck driving around hereabouts.

"You Big Red?"

There was a pause before the other answered, "That is what some call me, yes. Where did you hear about me?"

So, he did remember correctly.

"Buddy of mine. He's been doing jobs around here longer than me, so he knows the hands hereabouts. Lucky guess," he said, tapping the steering wheel a bit, a tick he hadn't quite dropped since he first started driving.

"I see."

"Met a guy in Mile High who was also called that, thought he'd made his way to Nevada."

"Hmm," he heard, or maybe it was just radio static, "And how come you knew I was not him?"

He chuckled, "Heh, he would have talked my ear off by now. 10-27 every time I heard him, worse than the preachers. They call me Rustbucker, by the way."

"It is good to make your acquaintance, Rustbucket."

"Rustbucker, you hear. Don't be calling my girl that."

"My apologies, I did not mean to offend. Is there a story behind it?" the voice sounded slightly sheepish, and just as polite as proper as before.

"Used to work at a junkyard way back, guess it stuck to me. Turns out I like driving trucks a whole lot more than scrapping them," he said before clicking his tongue, "Been a long time since then, and still can't shake it. Many get it wrong the first time, but that callsign's mine, and I ain't changing it."

There was no answer for a while, and for a moment, Carl thought he had annoyed the guy somehow, but then he spoke with a low voice, "I used to be a librarian."

"Now that makes sense. You sound like someone who has his nose in the books," he poked at the man a bit before taking a sip of coffee that had long since gone cold - he could feel the exhaustion creeping in despite the conversation.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Now that he had spoken again, he noticed that the tone had been different. It had been difficult to tell with the quiet transmission, but now that he had returned to normal, Carl realized that he had sounded sad then, if anything. It must have been some library job to get him on a rig and driving across the country.

"Course not. Just that people who sit at a desk all day long don't usually drop it all to do this instead. Why the switch-up, though?"

More silence. It seemed that Big Red wasn't much of a conversationalist, or he was just careful with his words. Whatever, even if he was thinking of a cover story for something, it wasn't like Carl would give a damn. He'd seen people of all sorts in his line of work, if the fellow happened to have a messy past, he wasn't going to pry.

"Still there, Big Red?"

"Yes. Regarding your question, there was a...conflict. My job was eliminated and I had to take on new responsibilities. Eventually, I made it here."

"Mhm. It's nothing fancy, but whatever gets us fed. Someone's gotta do it," Carl didn't quite have a response for what he had said, but he'd say whatever kept the conversation going.

If before he sounded a bit sad, then now the emotion was thick in his voice, and even if he had been a good friend to Big Red, he was getting too tired to deal with any deep conversations. They all had their messes to deal with, and Carl was only getting paid to haul whatever he was told to.

"Of course," he paused for a moment before continuing, "It was strange at first. I had lived in a city all my life, and I didn't know how beautiful it was."

Carl smiled, a bit wistfully, "Yeah, I get that. The big roads are full of traffic and noisy as all hell, but it's nice here. Too quiet for my liking, but nice. Hadn't even left my state 'fore this."

"What state, if I may ask?"

"Course you may, no need to be so proper, I'm not anyone fancy. Virginia's home 20 to me, but it's way too busy there on the east coast," he explained, slowly starting to warm up to the guy.

His buddy had made Big Red up to be some sort of folk tale only told about in hushed voices, but he was too old to listen to every silly thing that was told to him. Being on the road so long made people see things that weren't true, and Big Red happened to get in sight of one of those drivers. Still, he knew when to be cautious - not all stories were just that. Big Red, however - a decent fellow, if a bit strange.

"I take it you are far from home, as am I. I only came to Nevada some years ago "

He hummed a bit, some old tune he could neither place nor get out of his head, before answering with another question, "How far? Let me guess, Vermont? Nah, that ain't it. Canada?"

"No."

Carl groaned, but his tone stayed light, "Really thought I'd get you there, can't really tell over the CB. You better not be French, buddy."

To his delight, he could almost hear the smile in the voice that had been downright morose before, "I assure you, I am not from France."

"Ah, keep your secrets, I ain't guessing no more".

He was about to talk about something else, but at that moment, a bright yellow car sped past the two, so fast that Carl could hardly see anything other than the color. He had been so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn't even heard it coming. Only after it had passed did it dawn on him that they weren't the only ones on this road. Still, it had given him a good jolt to keep him up for the short time he had left until he got to his destination

"Hooligans. Whatever are they doing at that hour, I'll never know."

"That was a bit too fast. I must have word with him," there was a crackle, almost something like a cough, "if I happen upon him, I mean."

"Eh, the youth never listen, not to old men like us," he was guessing again there, but the voice wasn't the one of a young man.

"No, they do not. The least we can do is try to guide them."

"Yeah, yeah, you can do all that, but they'll still do what they want. I'll be happy as long as they aren't bothering me."

There was more silence, and for some time, Carl thought that was the end of it. Slowly, the orange glow on the horizon began to appear - his destination. Still, they were too far to see anything other than a few buildings scattered here and there.

"It's nice here, even if I can't see a thing. Would be nicer during the day, but what can you do," he paused, not expecting a reply nor getting one, "Thanks for keeping me company, Big Red."

"It is my pleasure, Rustbucker. Are you nearing your destination?"

"Soon. You going farther?"

"I am."

Carl hummed again, his coffee forgotten for now, but he did not feel like drinking that cold slurry anyway. Once he got closer, there might be someone else on the frequency as well, but he did not want the calm conversation, or even the lack of it he was having with the other driver to be disturbed.

As he glanced at the GPS, he saw that there was an intersection coming up ahead, splitting the road in half - one heading in the direction of the town, the other continuing on.

"I'll be heading left. You?"

"I'm afraid that's where our paths diverge," Big Red replied.

"Ah, well, what can you do? Keep the shiny side up while you're at it."

"You as well."

The two trucks split, but the roads ran parallel for a short while yet, letting Carl get a better look at the truck. It was, just as he saw it before, red with chrome details, but on longer inspection, there were some deep blue details on it as well. It was just unfair that he'd have such a nice rig, clean as a whistle in the desert when his own sorely needed a wash from all the dust.

No way in hell had he been a librarian, and if he had been, he was not a regular truck driver now. Tinted windows like that, he should have been caught the moment a bear showed up. Strange fellow. It was best that Carl did not get too deep into his business, whatever it was.

He drove a short way, scratching his eye a bit once a brighter light from the corner of his eye made him close it and he got a lash stuck in it. Right after, he extended a hand to talk on the radio again.

"I'll see you around, Big Red, just give me a holler," he spoke, and then looked back to the road where the other truck was driving.

Nothing.

He could still see it, the one he was on was slightly higher than the other, so he could see a large stretch of it, a mile backward and ahead. They had been driving with the same speed, and with the load was carrying, there was no way in hell he could have done the same tricks as the four-wheelers. The road was empty, not a sign that the other truck was there.

"Big Red, you there?" he tried again.

No response. His CB should have reached many miles out, he had hoped to still get to talk, but there was not a sign that his message had been received.

Carl shook his head, trying to think of where the fellow could have disappeared to, slowing down to a snail's pace to see the road better. He could have had a problem, pulled over to the side of the road, turned back, or whatever else. No, he had still been driving, the sound having come through the radio. It was slightly lighter now, too, and the intersection was visible from his window, not a light to be seen.

An entire rig completely disappeared from his sight. He rubbed his eyes, but the sight stayed the same, he was completely alone. It must have been exhaustion, yes that was it.

He tried to think if he had heard something else about Big Red, but he came to a blank. Just a fancy rig that had been seen around here, nobody knowing who he was or what he was doing.

"Fucking ghost trucks," he muttered at last.

Notes:

So, there ended up being a whole lot of trucker slang in it, possibly incorrectly used as well, but I had a tab open of the list of slang terms and I couldn't resist using them.

I'm going to be honest, I'm neither a trucker nor American, so if the dialogue seems a little off, it's probably because of that. Nevertheless, the post itched at me until I wrote something for it, it is entirely possible that there might be a few more ideas rattling around in my head about it.

Chapter 2: The Hitchhiker

Summary:

Left stranded at night and far from home, a young man tries his luck hitchhiking.

Another car sped past him without care and he sighed, though he kept his arm raised, hoping that someone would finally take pity on him.

He was barely out of town, having been spurned by the idiotic thought of walking home, but that turned out to be a horrible idea once he realized just how long a mile was in the snow. Nor could he walk that long anyway, not in this weather. As it was, he had come too far to go back, even as the sidewalks ended and he was left walking on a small strip on the side of the road.

He cursed, muffled by his scarf. Damn it. He must look pathetic, there was no way in hell that someone would let him in their car if he looked like a frozen rat.

Come on. There had to be someone, it wasn't that late! This was a busy enough road, but not so busy that people wouldn't pull over at all, they just didn't want to have to deal with a stranger. Yeah, yeah, he probably wouldn't like it either, who knew if he would be sitting next to someone who would be glad to stab him or something.

He didn't know what to do. Not enough money for a motel room, nobody here he knew, only a fragile hope that someone would stop.

Just, please. Anything at this point, he'd even take an old bucket of bolts that smelled of piss at this point. Four wheels and no murderers, was that too much to ask for? Two wheels and shitty eighties rock. Ten miles in the direction he'd want to go towards and a light stab wound...no, not that far, he was not cold enough to be delirious.

"Fuck!" he yelled, kicking the snow, which did absolutely nothing to lighten his mood.

He was an idiot. Why did he have to come here?

Whatever.

He raised his arm again and waited, trying his hardest to not notice how his eyes had started to prickle. The scarf wasn't thick enough to muffle the way his breathing had become heavier as he thought of what was going to happen, but it wasn't as if anyone could hear him, anyway.

"Please," he whispered.

He raised his head at a sudden sound, having not even noticed that he had lowered it into the mass of his scarf and coat. Someone had stopped, the bright lights almost blinding him now that he was this close. Steeling himself, he walked to the source, a truck driving without a trailer attached. For a moment, he just stood by it, taking in the details and the situation.

However, he was not left to ponder too long, as the door popped open.

"Are you in need of assistance?" came a voice from the inside of the truck.

He blinked before straightening himself and responding, "Uh, yes, I'm sorry to bother you, but could you take me to the next town over? I missed the last bus and there just isn't any way for me to get there, so please, would yo-" he tried to explain, his mouth running a mile a minute, but he was cut off before he could get too far.

"Of course."

It was that simple? He had expected to have to convince the guy, maybe even offer him whatever little he had in his wallet, but the man had just agreed without hesitation. Maybe this was one of those guys who killed hitchhikers, just stopping and picking up anyone he saw and then taking them to his place and doing whatever. Yeah, that would just be his luck.

Realizing he had been standing there and staring, he swallowed and climbed up. What else could he do, say no? It didn't seem all that dangerous, even if he couldn't see the guy very well outside from his dark form, only slightly lit from the back by the headlights of a passing car. Just couldn't put on the lights inside, could he?

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Fuck, it's cold out there, I thought nobody would stop."

There was no response.

Now that he was closer, he tried to get a better look at the man, but couldn't really discern much in the dark. Both hands on the wheel, doing nothing that would make it seem like something was about to go sideways. The displays were dim, not fully turned off, but they weren't the kind he was used to, being more like a screen than the dials and softly glowing gauges he was familiar with.

Meh, probably just a new model or some personal mods. The rest was nicer than he expected as well - painfully clean with a few scratches here and there. No baubles or other decorations in sight, not even an air freshener, though he thought the smell of oil that reached him wasn't unpleasant.

A crackle caught his ear, and from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something distorting and glowing a bit brighter, like a screen glitch. He would have thought the guy's phone must have been out, but he didn't see anything. These fancy screens must have been a bit finicky, then.

They were already on the road, the steady hum of the truck and the sound of wipers brushing off the falling snow the only sound. He liked it this way, there was no pressure for him to explain everything, all he needed was to get from one point to the other.

"Put on your seatbelt," the man spoke at last, not even glancing at the traveler.

"What? Sure," he fumbled with the belt, unaccustomed to it - he never did wear it when he was hitching a ride with his buddies, but if that guy was so concerned about safety, who was he to argue?

"So, are you here often? Just picking up people who need a ride?" he asked, trying to fill the silence.

"Sometimes. Not very often," he spoke carefully, mouth barely moving as he did so.

Still, he couldn't really see what he looked like. Even the passing cars did little to light up his face, but that might have been the tint of the windows or something, he wasn't quite sure. Strong features, he thought, but what these features were, he couldn't put a finger on, one glance he thought the man's nose was crooked, the other he decided it was straight, he thought he saw a hint of a mustache moving as he spoke, but even that was uncertain.

All he could see was motion, not really shape, but his face was motionless except when he spoke. He was very still, overall.

Even his clothes he was unsure about. There was the shadow of a sleeve barely illuminated by the display, and the collar of a jacket sticking out on the edge of his shadow, but nothing else.

"Is there something wrong?" the man asked, and he quickly averted his eyes, afraid that he had been caught, but the driver had not moved his head in his direction at all, utterly focused on the road, the only motion the stiff slide of hands on the steering wheel.

"No, no, why are you asking?"

"You are staring. I hope I am not frightening you," the man said, and perhaps he would have been scared, but it didn't sound like an accusation, more like genuine concern.

Anyone would be a bit wary of a strange man, no matter how nice he seemed, but he hadn't done anything to warrant straight-up fear, except for being large and overall intimidating. So what if he wasn't much of a talker, not everyone was, he didn't like chatting up strangers either without a drink or two.

"Nah, don't worry. Just trying to figure out how to spot you in a lineup if I have to," he joked, trying to get the edge off.

There was silence for a moment before the man replied, confusion creeping into his tone "What do you mean by that?"

He threw his hands up, lightening his voice, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Y'know, a lineup like in one of those police shows where they get a bunch of people together and have to figure out who did it. Shit joke, I'm sorry."

Only now did his head turn, bright blue eyes under deeply furrowed brows, "I have not broken the law. Are you a criminal?"

"Cool it, I said I was joking. I haven't done jack shit unless you count a bit of grass here and there. I won't get you into trouble, I swear." the man still hadn't turned away, even as he was still driving, "Hey, uh, the road's still there, by the way."

The trucker's head snapped back, fast enough that he was scared he'd get whiplash from it. Okay, so, that wasn't one of his brightest plans, but he was known for putting his foot in his mouth.

"I apologize. There are times when I am overly confrontational."

"No harm done, I can be a bit much sometimes. Just, thanks for stopping, I didn't mean to rile you up."

Silence fell again, and he chose to stare outside instead. If it weren't for his situation, it would have been a nice night, even if a bit too quiet for his tastes. They had turned off the bigger road by now, and trees lined the sides of the road, the snow weighing down the branches of the evergreens. The previous apprehension was beginning to die down, and he had even started to enjoy the trip.

Yeah, this wasn't too bad.

"Are you going home, too? Finished the job and going back now?" he dared to ask after a while, after it seemed that enough time had passed for the man to calm down a bit.

"No," he said, in a weird, sad way, "I cannot."

"Yeah, I see. Heard a bunch of truckers live far away from where they're doing the driving, so I guess that makes sense."

"I suppose it can be taken that way."

Even though the trucker wasn't looking at him, he still felt his attention. It was strange, as if something greater than himself was looking at him, all the while keeping its distance. Not in a bad way, he didn't feel hunted, but there was something there, making him feel small. It was dumb, this was just some guy, but the odd sensation didn't go away, it had been there ever since he climbed on board.

"Will you be safe at your destination?" the voice was one of gentle concern.

He startled, surprised that he was talking, "Sure, just drop me off when we get in town, I can walk home just fine."

They were getting close, anyway, as the trees had thinned out and the lights were beginning to shine in the distance. Weird. He had just gotten used to the quiet. Nonetheless, his ride was about to end soon.

"That is good to hear."

He was just about to try and talk a bit more when his body decided to betray him, his stomach letting out a rumble that was much too loud in the otherwise quiet truck. He cursed himself silently, wrapping an arm around his midsection to try and silence any further sound.

"Sorry about that," he pressed out, embarrassed.

"You are hungry," he noted, ever astute, what fun, "Is there a place for you to acquire food?"

"Don't worry about it, I can just eat when I get home."

For the first time throughout the entire trip, the man took one hand off the steering wheel, and pointed at a sign that advertised a drive-thru, one that would still be operating at this hour, and asked, "Would that be to your liking?"

"Uh, sure, but you don't have to. We're almost there."

His half-hearted protest fell on deaf ears as they pulled into the place. He wouldn't have said no to a bit of food, but eating out was an extravagant expense, even at a place like this. Fuck, he couldn't pay for food for two people.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but-" he tried to explain while fumbling with his embarrassingly thin wallet, checking that yes, he still had next to nothing in it.

"You need not worry about that. There," he gestured again, this time at the compartment right in front of him.

Hands shaking from the previous shock of having to pay, he fumbled it open, finding that it contained only one thing - an obviously handmade duct tape wallet, though it seemed to be in horrible condition, half of it seeming to be melted, the tape on the other half fraying. That was what he was feeling under his fingers, but as the window rolled down for him to order, he could see the once-colorful patterns on it.

The man expected him to order, and he did, rattling off the order he knew by heart by this point, having been in this exact place countless times before. Once, he had even hurled right at this spot, though not at the same side as the receiver was on.

"-and," he began, before whispering to the man, "Anything for you?"

"No," and was it humor he heard there, an edge of a joke he didn't understand?

He still couldn't tell what the man looked like. It was as if the lights from outside did nothing to brighten his face. The feeling, that odd sensation that he had just gotten used to, emerged with full force, and he tore his eyes from the man. He had blue eyes, that was all he could tell. Nothing else.

The wallet contained only cash and a single card, but what sort it was, he was not sure. He did not dare to check.

The compartment had been empty. He had expected there to be more, papers, registration, something at least, but this was the only thing. They were probably somewhere else, but this was only another thing on his mental list right now. Nonetheless, he did not feel like snapping open his belt and running home for however long of a way there it was.

Money and food were exchanged, and he clutched the paper bag tight in his hands, the scent only urging his stomach on, but he did not dig in. The wallet was still in his hand, though, and as covertly as possible, he removed a single bill from it before putting it back. It was wrong, but he was nothing if not an opportunist.

"Thank you, but now take me to town, please," he spoke, heart beating fast.

The trucker said nothing. He had not seen, he was sure of it, otherwise he would have really had to run. The feeling of being observed at all times was just him being paranoid. The man was just going to take him to town, and that was going to be the end of it.

He did just that. Not too far from where he needed to go, the truck stopped. He undid the seatbelt and opened the door, one leg already in the biting cold.

"Thank you again. If there's anything I can do to repay you-" he started, clutching the stolen bill so hard it was turning into a crumpled ball.

"Go," there was a pause, but even from that short bit he could sense the tenseness, "Do not make a habit out of it."

Shit. He had been seen.

"I'm sorry," was all he could muster, before jumping out and making a run for it.

The trucker did not follow, but he could feel the disappointment hanging in the air where he had driven off. Yeah, that had been a shit thing to do, but he had needed it.

As he unlocked the door to his apartment, the weight grew heavier. Somehow, it felt that this wasn't just some random guy he had snagged a hundred from.

Notes:

Okay, I did write that extra chapter!

Clearly, OP needs some practice regarding holoforms lol. I purposefully didn't want to give him a specific appearance, I felt that it would work better if everything about it was left vague and unknowable to add to the mystique of it all. It's dark, can't see who you're sitting next to, sure, but not being able to pinpoint anything about him? Yeah, would be a lil freaky.

Also, the whole drive thru plot I bullshitted, the wallet is just for some emergency cash if the bots really need it, one can never know what the human world has to throw at them. As for the wallet itself...yeah, Miko's just trying her hand at crafts.

Another note, this is obvs not Nevada anymore, so imagine it's happening in some other state. I was personally thinking Idaho, but, yknow, the only things narrowing down the location are the climate and the weed mention

Chapter 3: The Chased

Summary:

This is her final chance. A truck told about in stories.

The metal was cold against her back and the butt of the cigarette was hot on her lips, not much else had to be said. Oh, there was so much more to be said, but did she have to? There were much better things to think about than the mess she had gotten herself into and the truck she had parked her ass against.

Well, she was mostly just sitting and leaning against it, but that landed firmly in the land of semantics. If she had pleased, she could climb on top and just lay there, but that was too much work, even if it would have been less bumpy than the ground she was sitting on.

Also, if her suspicions were hitting the mark, climbing on the thing would be a bit disrespectful. Meh, any driver would find it thoroughly offensive to have a nobody lounging on their precious baby, but she wanted to be a bit more careful with this one, could never know what would happen.

There she went, listening to people jabber on about nothing and believing them, to boot. She was too old to believe in fairytales, but did she have another option? Nah.

She lit another cig, despite the hit from the last one still in her system, needing a bit more than that to carry on. Hell, she didn't even know if she had the right rig, this could just be some random idiot, maybe that shithead from Colorado who Chris didn't shut up about. Chris...or was it Carlos? Something like that.

"I've lost it now, huh? Yeesh, that's what I get, don't I?" she muttered, blowing out the smoke through her nose for the fun of it.

It was in the middle of nowhere, too far from any town or even a village to be of use, not that she wanted to be there, either. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure how she had ended up here, only that the first glimmer of hope she'd had for a while was sitting right in front of her in the Nevada night. There were people looking for her, sure as shit, but if she was lucky, this could be her ticket out of here, or at least a way to buy more time.

She'd been here for half an hour already, wasting precious time, but the driver was nowhere to be seen. Most others would just think he was asleep in the nearby motel or chatting it up with the other drivers at the lounge, but she hoped it was something else - that he had just chosen not to show himself yet.

"You know, it's rude to keep a lady waiting," she said into the night, resting the back of her head against the truck as well after taking a drag out of her cigarette.

There was no answer, but something within her said that she had been heard. She waited a minute, then another, nothing. With a resolute flick, she sent the cigarette butt flying a good distance away, and only then did the sensation of being watched kick in.

"Are you waiting for someone?" came a voice, and her head swung in the direction of the speaker.

She couldn't see much, only a tall form standing not too far from her, hands shoved in his pockets. There was nobody else around, no other rig close enough for this to be their driver, and she sure as hell hadn't seen the guy come out of the nearby buildings and walk to her.

Bingo.

After taking a deep, nicotine-less breath to calm herself for the stupidity she was about to commit, she replied, "Yeah. You."

The man did not move, though when he replied, there was an edge of surprise in the otherwise monotone voice, "Me? You must be mistaken."

"Maybe," she said in a low voice, halfway regretting her decision, but she jabbed a thumb at the truck anyway while she spoke, "This your rig? Big Red, that's what they're calling you?"

"Yes. That's me-, that's mine. What is it that you need?"

"A ride out of here."

It was a gamble. She was going all in, for a guy she'd heard spoken of by not the most trustworthy bunch of people. He could be all that they told her about, or he could just be another man. She preferred the ghost.

"Is there no other way?"

She barked a humorless laugh, "You think I'll take a taxi out of here? Fat chance of that happening. Anyone else here will take me as one of those "lot lizards"," she waved a hand at nothing, "Putting my chips on red, or rather, you, Big Red. You going to take me or not?"

He stepped closer, though his form became only marginally sharper, for her slightly hazy eyes did not want to focus properly. The blasted lights from the truck stop also shone from behind, illuminating almost nothing of the side that was facing her. Nevertheless, her ears were as sharp as ever, concentrating on everything she could hear, or rather, couldn't hear.

"I don't know what direction you want to go," he said simply, all the while he put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, though something about the motion was off, something in the way he shifted and then stood perfectly still right after.

"Anywhere is fine. Just take me away from here."

Her hands wrapped around the contents of her pockets, one around the wallet, the other around the small, functionally useless knife. As soon as she looked up to try and guess the answer to it, she saw him shift as well. Huh.

"Are you in trouble with the law?" he asked, tone as even as it had been before.

Haha, of course, he was a goody-two-shoes.

"Well, not exactly. More like I'm in trouble with people who are," she lied, hoping that the sliver of truth would be enough to placate him.

"There is a town not too far from here. Will that suffice?" the man asked, though there was an undercurrent of tension as he said it, even though nothing of his body language betrayed it.

She grimaced, "No way in hell. Whatever direction you're going, take me as far as you can."

"I would rather not attract any attention. Maybe I can help you some other way?"

"Is that so? That's why you popped out of nowhere? I didn't see you coming from anywhere, didn't hear you," she remarked pointedly, too desperate to be discrete. It was either him or whatever fate would await her.

"What?" he stammered out, taken aback.

"Most people have footsteps. I guess those who told me about you weren't that crazy, after all."

This was potentially dangerous territory she was treading on, but if this were a ghost or something else entirely, well, at least she would go out in an interesting way. Maybe Big Red would help only those who didn't know what he was, or those that didn't look too deep, but... There was still a gun stashed in her bag, still one more path to take.

"What did they tell you?"

Nervousness. Very well hidden, but right there under the steely authority that had replaced the gentleness.

"They told me you could help."

Her voice had come as almost a whisper, the wind completely taken out of her sails.

She sunk lower than she thought was possible, she had already been sitting down, but now she was slumping. Her fingers sunk into a greasy mass of hair, broken nails catching on strands where the long-outgrown manicure had finally given up. The acrid stench of her cigarettes reached her nose as her palms hit her face, the earlier bravado gone. Her face felt hot, even as her stomach twisted and turned, a cold, freezing mass in her middle.

"They told me you were strange. You appear and disappear and you talk little, but you helped them. That kid from Idaho, he told me you took him home," she gasped a breath, the weight of her situation finally reaching her, "Please. At least get me out of Nevada. I don't care if you put me on the side of the road, I just need to get away."

Something touched her shoulder. If she hadn't been in such a state, perhaps she would have jerked away, but she was much too tired for that. Maybe it wasn't that good of an idea to not sleep for more than a whole day. As the touch did not leave, she slowly let her hands fall to rest on her knees to see what was going on.

The man was now next to her, a comforting hand placed on her shoulder. Facial features she hadn't noticed before slowly solidified, but the eyes were the most noticeable. Concerned blue eyes looked at her, though it felt more as if they looked through her instead.

"I apologize. I didn't realize the situation was that severe."

"So, a pretty girl crying is all it takes to soften you up," she hiccuped, forcing a warped smile on her face.

"That is not the case," he was uncomfortable now, and wasn't that just the way she rolled, even freaking out the ghost story.

"You'll do it, then?" she asked, even though she felt hollow from even that attempt.

"I will. I cannot say how far, but out of this state? Definitely."

"Thank you."

This was all she could say. Nothing more would come out. She'd get out. It wouldn't all go to shit.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked, shaking her out of her stupor.

She groaned as she lifted herself off the ground, the muscles having become stiff from being stuck in one position for so long. The beat-up sneakers failed to grip the ground, landing her on her ass again, but as soon as she got her arms to listen to her, she was getting up. Loose rocks and bits of dirt clung to her, but she brushed them off as well as she could, not wanting to dirty the pretty rig that would bring her to a new place.

"Nah, I'm good," then she paused, thinking it over, "Wait. What's your name? Calling you Big Red's kind of silly," she added with a shrug.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she thought that there would be no answer at all, but then he said, "Orion."

"Orion," she repeated, testing it, "Like the constellation."

It wasn't a question, but he replied anyway, "Yes. Though I don't think that was considered when I was named."

She turned away from him, instead setting her eyes on the night sky, in search of something, wreaking her brain for knowledge long unused. It wasn't the best spot, but this would be bright enough to see, if it was the right time for it. There. Not far from the horizon, having barely risen, the trio she had been looking for.

"Look," she called, pointing in that direction, "There. The three stars - Orion's belt."

"So it is. It was surprising to find out I had shared a name with a constellation," he spoke, and then she could tell what the others had said, about that strange, faraway sense to him.

"The hunter. A giant of a man who threatened to kill every beast that roamed the Earth. Got a giant scorpion sent after him who killed him, but the gods still placed him among the stars after that," she mused, reciting what little she remembered from the textbooks she had read years ago.

"Among other unsavory things," he spoke, "I don't think I'm much like him."

"Meh, they're just stories. Though, I guess you are tall," she couldn't resist adding.

"What?" he asked, confused and perhaps a little alarmed.

She huffed a breath, not quite enough to be a laugh, and bounced on her heels.

"We should go," he said, as if he had seen, or perhaps sensed her impatience, but that couldn't have been right - his back was still to her.

The interior of the truck was still as dark as the outside, but it was warm, as if it had been running for some time already. The backpack landed between her feet with a thunk, and despite herself, she found that she was relaxing into the seat, her tiredness making itself known as soon as it wasn't the ground under her.

"I'm Catherine, by the way," she said as the truck roared to life, the motor purring as smoothly as she would have expected from the pristine outside.

It was a lie, of course. A lie for a lie, Orion was not that man's name. There was no reason to doubt him, but she would put all her bets on her hunch being true. It didn't matter to her, a man, or whatever he was, could have his secrets.

"Where to, Catherine? North or east?"

There wasn't much of a thought left as exhaustion was starting to take hold, but she managed to say, "East. Orion's in the east."

"Very well. Sleep, I won't let anything happen."

For the first time in a long while, she fell asleep while at peace.

Notes:

I swear, this thing just keeps multiplying whenever I'm not looking. If the two others were more like recordings of isolated incidents, this is what happens when all these stories are heard and followed. Eventually, someone would directly seek him out.

Yes, I had to check when and from what direction the Orion constellation would rise for this to make sense. Also, Orion's nearly on its side this far south, did not expect that. Anyway, I love getting to sprinkle a bit of OP into the fic through the dialogue. Also, callbacks to previous chapters!

Hmm, this feels like I could leave it be now, but who knows. Perhaps a chapter taking place earlier on in the timeline...

As always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated!

Notes:

Love the idea of OP being a ghost story, I find it really interesting to explore the different interactions he might have with people during his time on the planet. He's an alien robot who turns into a truck, and try as he might to stay covert and not show himself at any cost, sometimes he can't help but get involved.

I'd be glad to hear your thoughts about it :D